Keep Believing

Dear Angie -

Heartfelt "Happy Anniversary" to you.

Keep Believing...
Nicole





Dear Readers -

Angie is the author of Keep Believing. Today is her anniversary - somewhat bittersweet since her husband, Brian, lost his battle with cancer this past March 17th.

If you are interesting in helping, Keep Believing Fund has been set up to assist the family.

My Long Road to Motherhood

A few weeks ago, I read a blog post from one of my blogger friends - chronicling her sorrows about difficulties with conceiving a child. It's not the first blog I've read that has been filled with despair. Each time, I promise them - or myself - that I'll share my story. It's difficult. It's emotional. I could never bring myself to do it. Until now. If the road to becoming a mother is bumpy, it's best to have someone riding shotgun.

So I brought my notepad outside to write while surrounded by my ultimate inspiration. I laid on the ground and watched my girls playing with the sidewalk chalk. It made me smile and I realized how lucky I really am.

This is my story...
In 1994, a year after we got married, my father-in-law suffered a heart attack. On the long drive from Iowa to Alabama (where he was hospitalized), DH and I discussed starting a family. It was a casual thing at first, figuring it would happen when it was meant to. We didn't get pregnant, but at the time, it was a good thing. We had the opportunity for DH to accept a job in Los Angeles and I doubt we would have taken such a risk if we had another mouth to feed. So we accepted the job and moved.

We were trying but it just wasn't happening. In 1996, my brother emailed us a trivia question and said we needed to call to get the answer. The email simply said "A N U S". I quickly deciphered it to mean "Aunt N Uncle soon". (Turns out it meant Aunt Nicole Uncle S.) It was a difficult call to make, that's for certain. I doubt they had any idea to what extent I was torn between excitement for them and total hopelessness for me. Although my family knew we were TTC (trying to conceive), I had never shared the full extent of my situation. Between family and friends, I had heard all the comments "You're too young to have kids." "Just relax." "Get drunk, that always works." My heart was broken every time I received another birth announcement in the mail. It just was easier to keep to myself.

By 1997, I finally decided it was time to consult a physician - during my next annual exam. He prescribed clomid...like every other OB/GYN on the planet. Like any good patient, I followed my doctor's instructions. He was the doctor so I had no reason to question his treatment plan. I had no idea that my OB/GYN was wasting my time, money and emotional well-being. Answer this. What types of sites were you surfing back in 1997 or even 98 or 99? I would venture to guess not blogs or even advice columns. The only 'support group' I found was at ParentsPlace - a division of iVillage. There were so few of us that we even had a gift exchange at Christmas one year. Information was scarce and details (about treatment options) were very limited.

After a year and a half of clomid - which included various types and levels of progesterone support, I was encouraged by my ParentsPlace friends to get a referral to a reproductive endocrinologist (RE). I stopped the clomid and waited. My doctor was offended and not very helpful but eventually submitted the paperwork. If I had known then what I know now, I wouldn't have spent more than three or six months on clomid. That's one of the basic things that people learn now - Clomid has diminishing effects as each month passes. I'll spare the medical details behind the ineffectiveness of it. But I wasted over a year not realizing that I had no chance of getting pregnant. Each month I would be crushed, broken and hurt when my period would start and I would grieve for another failed cycle.

When I finally got a referral, the RE performed tests and informed us that we were pregnant. That brief break from Clomid was enough for my body to recover back to normal. Unfortunately, in December 1999 I miscarried. Believed to be primarily due to undiagnosed and untreated hypothyroidism. All the weight I had gained was because of my thyroid. I blamed it on stress and clomid. My RE insisted I take some time off for my body to heal; when it was time to start again, I was told he was retiring.

This time, I was referred to Dr. Tina Koopersmith. She started us easy but moved into Gonal-F. I never realized how difficult it would be to measure and prep for an injection at exactly the same time every evening. That meant any destination at that time of day would be my mobile lab. Airport, mall, restaurant to list a few. I looked like an addict getting ready to shoot up, but I didn't care... I had my priorities.

All the Gonal-F shots were subcutaneous in the thigh, while the HCG shot was intramuscular in a small area on the backside of my hip. The Sub-Q shots were doable and I figured out a system that worked well for me. As painful physically as the HCG shot was, it was far worse emotionally for DH since he was saddled with the responsibility of administering it to me.

In May 2002, we were on what we figured would be our final cycle because it was just too difficult and was causing me a great deal of mental anguish. I was bitter. I was angry. And I was taking it out on the person who mattered most to me in the world, my husband. If this cycle, which included Gonal-F and an Intrauterine insemination(IUI) didn't work, then we would not have children.

On June 4, 2002 - After approximately 8 years of trying, countless dollars, daily temperature charting, ovulation predictor kits, a year and a half of clomid, enough arm pricks for bloodwork to turn me into a fountain, a very painful Hysterosalpingogram, a difficult uterine biopsy, months of daily thigh injections and related HSG shots, progesterone suppositories and creams, home pregnancy kits, blood sweat and lots of tears, Dr. Koopersmith called to inform us we were expecting. My father-in-law's birthday is June 3rd and his anniversary June 5th so we felt it was a gift that we get this call on the 4th. Unfortunately, my FIL had passed away the prior December.

I had a high-risk pregnancy but after some problems during labor, delivered a healthy, happy Miss M. When my doctors recommended I start birth control, I proudly explained "I paid for this one. I'm not going to pay NOT to have another. If it happens, I'll be happy."

In the fall of 2003, we asked the doctors to start our referral paperwork so we could start the process all over again. My physician would not process it until they confirmed Miss M didn't have health issues. One day in January 2004, a few weeks shy of Miss M's first birthday, I informed DH that Miss M was going to be a big sister. We were in shock - no fertility treatments. An awesome and easy pregnancy, about 30 minutes of labor and a healthy Miss K was in my arms.

It was a long and painful road but well worth the journey.

It's All in the Dash

Here I am, age 38, and still learning new things about people I have known for all or most of my life.

When I was two or three, my 15ish-year old uncle came to live with us for a short time. Most of what I recall of that time is based on photographs captured and preserved in our family photo albums. When I was around 10, Uncle Doug married a woman (we’ll call Aunt D) and had a daughter. Aunt D brought two sons from a previous relationship into the marriage with her.

But since they didn’t live near us, I never got to know any of Doug's new family very well. This past Thursday, I had the opportunity to see these three children as adults; unfortunately it was when I attended a funeral for my Uncle Doug. I sat back, listened and cried as the oldest child delivered a beautifully written, well-spoken and caring eulogy.

I have always known that Uncle Doug was a fun-loving and happy man. I know that whenever I would see him, I couldn’t help but smile. What I did not know is how he was as a father or how he raised his kids. Step-parents don’t always get the best wrap, but based on the memories shared by the oldest child, Uncle Doug made the best of it. During the eulogy, Oldest Child told stories of how Doug had become his best friend, confidant and golfing buddy. Then he retold the childhood story of a fight between him and his brother. When Aunt D expressed her concerns about it, Uncle Doug said (paraphrased) “Just let them fight. One of these days one of them will win and they won’t fight any more.” Those comments exemplified Uncle Doug's attitude about life – just let things happen and see how everything pans out.

The minister opened the mic up for anyone to comment and share. Another Aunt stepped up and explained that when you see the date of someone’s birth followed by the date of their death, you need to focus on the dash in-between the dates. Everything about you resides in that dash. What makes you who you are is in that dash. My Uncle Doug lived his life the way he wanted to… he lived the dash.

Now, before I close, I want to say that while visiting with Aunt D before the funeral, she told me that Uncle Doug had been reading my blog. (Apparently my proud father shared the link with him.) I had NO idea than Uncle Doug even surfed the net, let alone took the time to read my blog. Aunt D said that they enjoyed reading it together and she plans to continue to read it. So, if any of my loyal readers care to comment, feel free to direct them at Aunt D.

Aunt D – If you’re reading this, I'll miss Doug, too. My thoughts and prayers are with you.

How Much We Love our Dogs

Have you ever thought about walking out onto your 4" snow-covered back porch, barefoot, in the middle of the night in nothing but your pajamas? The origin of that question will be clear in just a bit.

DH and I are definitely dog people. Shortly after moving to California in 1995, we adopted Blizzard, a beautiful male American Eskimo. We fell so much in love with the breed that we decided to adopt a female, Glacier, so that Blizzard had another dog for companionship. Eventually, we found ourselves getting involved in animal rescue – helping rehabilitate dogs in our home until they were ready to move on to a permanent family. We were limited by the animal control laws to only three pets so we would foster a dog, work with it and find it a home before taking in another. One dog had behavioral problems; another was just a wanderer that needed to be cleaned up and fed before being placed in a home. A third, a female Chow whom we decided to call Nestle, was a special case. In 1997, she was just a puppy when we found her running as fast as her little feet would carry her - straight down the middle of a busy road in Palmdale, California. We had just headed out to hit some yard sales, so it was very early and thankfully traffic was scarce. We drove as close as we could to her and I jumped out in a feeble attempt to grab her. Being the spring chicken that I was (ha!), she totally outran me. DH managed to safely get the car in front of her, threw it in park and jumped out to scare her off of the road. She got caught in a bush on the side of the road and we were able to wrangle her into the car. She had signs of having been abused by the man of her prior home; she wouldn't go near DH for months. Whenever he would stand up or raise an arm to pet her, she would cower in fear. It was a sad sight because she's a very gentle and loving creature. I never will understand how people can treat such caring and forgiving animals so cruelly.

When it came time to take Nestle to an adoption event, I decided I couldn't do it. We had worked with her long enough that I realized that WE were the perfect family for her. Because of the three pet limit, our days of fostering and rehabilitating were over… but it was all for the best.

We've been through a lot with our dogs. After many years of dealing with infertility issues, we had finally come to grips with the fact that our dogs were the only children we would ever have. (That was before we were blessed with Miss M.) Later, in 2004, Glacier had surgery to remove one of her eyes due to a tumor. We lost our first four-legged child, Blizzard, in December 2006. I didn't realize how incredibly hard that would hit me; it is still a difficult subject more than a year later. A few weeks ago, Nestle started having problems with one of her hind legs. She couldn't manage the flight of stairs so DH and I began to carry her up and down. It gave me flashbacks to all the time I needed to do that for Blizzard. But we love our dogs and we do what we need to. Nestle must have hurt it on something because she's finally started to put some weight on it and only needs help with the stairs about once per day.

Then the other night, during our regular middle-of-the-night doggie restroom break, Nestle slipped trying to come up the three stairs to the porch. Her front paws were on the top pulling with all her might. She looked like she was falling off the side of a building – so helpless and panicked. Immediately, I realized that I needed to go outside… onto the back porch… barefoot into 4" of snow… in the middle of the night… in nothing but my pajamas to help her. As I opened the door to go outside, she mustered just enough strength to make it up by herself.

Without hesitation, I gladly carried her up the flight of stairs to the bedroom.

Justifiable Bah Humbugism

Historically, Christmas hasn't exactly been my favorite time of year – after spending several years in California hoping that some relative would decide to spend Christmas with us, I finally came to the realization that it was a hopeless request. Making matters worse was the fact that on more than one occasion, gifts from distant relatives didn't even make it to us in time for Christmas. There were some years that no decorations other than the tree ever went up and a few years that the Christmas tree didn't even go up until late Christmas Eve. Fertility treatments had continuously been unsuccessful so holidays were just about the two of us. Thankfully, each Christmas morning, hubby always found a way to make me happy – coming up with the perfect gift, year after year and creating traditions of our own.

Six years ago today, I actually found a reason to wake up with a great deal of excitement. After many years of trying, we had made some changes to my fertility treatments and I finally had a glimmer of hope – just in time for the holidays. It was a chaotic morning because I needed to be at the lab by a certain time to ensure that the lab results would be back to my doctor before she headed off for the holiday weekend. It was imperative that I hear the news that afternoon… we were scheduled to leave on a cruise the following morning and I wanted to know whether I was going to be gleefully enjoying virgin daiquiris by the pool or drowning my sorrows in whatever alcohol I could get my hands on. So when my father-in-law called for our Friday ritual-sharing of yard sale successes, I only talked to him for a short while before explaining that I needed to go. I didn't want to divulge where I was heading because I wanted it to be a surprise if the results came back positive. Promising to talk to him later, I somewhat abruptly excused myself so I wouldn't miss the morning deadline at the lab.

That afternoon, the phone call I received was not what I expected. My mother-in-law called to inform me that my FIL had suffered a heart attack. In the haze of our grief, I don't recall whether the doctor even called – it just didn't matter at that point. It was destined to be a difficult holiday on all fronts.

With regard to the fertility treatments, we took off a few months in order to deal with our loss. We found out we were pregnant with our first child, Miss M, the day in-between my FIL's birthday and his anniversary, just six months after his passing.

To this day, the holidays have an aura of sorrow about them. At least with children now, I look forward to seeing their faces when they wake up to see what Santa has left behind and my wonderful DH still manages to make Christmas a special day for me, as well. I've been able to justify being a grump around the holidays in the past, but I really can't do that much longer...